


wound and unwound

by or-ng-c-ss-dy (o_r_ng_c_ss_dy)



Category: All Elite Wrestling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Blowjobs, Car Sex, Drunk Sex, Feelings, Feelings Realization, First Time at Home, Grinding, M/M, Premature Ejaculation, The five times Chuck came too quick and the one time that Orange did
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-24 00:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o_r_ng_c_ss_dy/pseuds/or-ng-c-ss-dy
Summary: it probably wasn't a patternor the five times that chuck came too quick and the one time that orange came too quick.
Relationships: Orange Cassidy/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a fic for my pal [ jc's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcity/pseuds/darkcity) birthday, which was last month. and it just sorta ballooned into this crazy long fic, hence why it's incredible late. it's still for her though, just....a very belated birthday present.
> 
> it's not quite finished yet but, hey, we'll get there. i'll be updating it every couple of days i think. every two days, unless something goes wrong. the tags will be updated as the fic is updated.
> 
> enjoy!

There was definitely a hierarchy in the CZW locker room, and an obvious one at that. Chuck wasn’t that dumb, he knew where he stood, and that was at the very bottom.

So, when some of the older guys invited him and a few of the other guys to hang out with them, he felt pretty good about himself. Maybe he’d impressed some of them, he wasn’t sure, but he felt pretty cool. And it was cool, hanging out with those older guys, they’d been around for a little longer than the rest of them, had some wisdom to give out. 

Oh, and a whole lot of alcohol. That helped too, considering the fact that he couldn’t exactly go and get booze himself, so it wasn’t like he could provide much other than approximately ten bucks and himself. But they’d invited him anyway, gotten him nice and drunk in someone else’s motel room, one that wasn’t split between, like, six guys, one that just had two people staying in it, with two beds too. 

It felt like the height of luxury to Chuck, who was very drunk and pleased with not having to trip over a bunch of bags whenever he had to use the bathroom. Which was a lot, he was drunk after all, and people kept getting him more drinks. 

There was less wisdom in the room and more road stories that probably weren’t true if he really thought about them. Like one of the guys swearing that he’d had a foursome with three crazy hot fans after a show, Chuck hadn’t really seen any hot fans but maybe all of the hot fans had stayed home that night? He didn’t know, he wasn’t about to call out the story for being bullshit, not when he was trying to seem cool, like he could hang with the big boys. 

One of the other guys immediately tried to one up the foursome guy, telling them all about how this hot fan let him stick it up her ass, which made Chuck blush into his beer. He’d been in locker rooms before but these stories were getting a little out of hand, he wasn’t sure he needed to know all of this. Plus, he still wasn’t exactly sure where all of these hot fans were. Maybe the guys were talking about different shows that weren’t CZW, some weird hot girl wrestling fanbase that existed outside of CZW.

He was still thinking about the logistics of sticking something up someone’s ass, when, suddenly, there was a little blond guy being pushed in his general direction, stumbling over one of the few bags in the room like a total idiot, nearly falling into his lap. The blond guy looked a little annoyed, but Chuck knew that he was probably trying to be cool too, so neither of them said anything about him being pushed, and Chuck pointedly ignored the little hand that had landed on his leg even though it was warm and small, lingering for a little too long.

“Go with him.” The guy who pushed him said.

And Chuck didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t going to object, setting his beer down and grabbing his jacket, following the little blond guy out.

He’d seen him earlier, in the locker room, but he’d been more occupied with getting to know his team for the match instead of meeting everyone. But he had noticed him, hair all long and shiny even in the dim light, he’d never seen someone who was that blond before. Not even a girl, thinking about all of those hot girls that the other guys had hooked up with, he hadn’t seen any hot fans but he steered his thoughts away from shiny blond hair, bringing his brain to where it should be.

Shit, he didn’t remember the guy’s name. What was it? JC? Was that it? Or maybe it was OC, he didn’t know, neither sounded wrong to him. Had the guy even said his name, maybe he was just making it up, he’d barely glanced at the match card after finding out that he was opening the show, but there was definitely a C there.

“Where are we going anyway?” He asked, and the guy looked at him all funny, so clearly he hadn’t been paying attention and was already told what he was supposed to be doing.

“We’re getting more beer.” The blond guy said, rolling his eyes obviously, which made Chuck feel…

Well, he didn’t know how it made him feel, he was too drunk to be deciding that. But it felt weird and a little unpleasant, but also sort of...something else? Close to good. He didn’t know. It was weird, that was all, itching under his skin. JC, he was pretty sure it was JC, looking at him, blue eyes prickling at his skin, like he wanted JC to look at him or something like that. A wholly uncool thought, he didn’t even know where it was coming from, he wanted JC to look at him, what the hell did that even mean?

But JC was looking at him, questioningly, and he realized that he had said something to him. Christ, he’d had too much to drink.

“What?” He asked, and JC just looked so deeply unimpressed with him, rolling his eyes again.

“Christ, looks like I’m driving then. I asked if they gave you any money?”

Oh, well that made sense. He didn’t think he was that drunk but he patted at his pockets, looking for some cash before realizing that the only money he had was his own, frowning as he pulled the crumpled up ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

“No, just this.” He said, holding it up to JC.

“That is money, how much have you been drinking, anyway?” He said, sneering, like Chuck was dumb or something.

Which he probably was, but Chuck rolled his eyes like JC was the idiot.

“They didn’t give me any money, that’s my money.”

“Whatever, let’s just go.” JC said, rolling his eyes again and frowning up at Chuck.

He unlocked the door of someone else’s rental car, sliding into the driver’s side. For a ridiculous second, Chuck thought about shutting his door for him, but that’d be totally weird and he didn’t really know why he thought about doing it in the first place. Instead, he stared at the door after JC shut it himself for a little while until he was offering him another eye roll through the window, rolling it down and glaring at him.

“Are you getting in or what?” He said, a little snotty, dragging Chuck out of his thoughts.

Closing his door for him, like some sort of...gentleman? Weird, really weird. He was drunker than he thought, brain wanting him to act nice towards this bratty blond guy. 

Chuck did a half jog around the car, opening the door and sitting in the passenger seat, leaning against the door almost instantly as JC pulled out of the parking lot to search for a nearby liquor store. The glass was cool against his head, clearing it up a little as JC drove, someone else’s mix CD playing in the background to fill the silence between them.

It was strange in a way that he’d never felt before. He’d met plenty of people because of wrestling, and not everyone liked him but...JC was strange. He didn’t know why but he was strange, and he made Chuck feel all weird. Almost like he was drunker than he actually was, there was something drawing him to JC. 

Maybe he was that drunk. Thinking about a little blond guy instead of foursomes with hot female fans, but a foursome sounded like a lot of work, but that thing the other guy had mentioned seemed a lot easier, little hand landing on his leg…

God, he was fucking drunk. What the hell was he thinking, he barely knew the guy and he was a guy, so he shouldn’t be thinking like that at all. Chuck had to shake his head, like he could knock the weird thoughts out of his brain. It seemed to work though, brain clear of any of those weird thoughts all of a sudden. Just some weird, intrusive thoughts, it was fine, he was just drunk and in a weird mood.

His brain was really lagging behind, JC reaching over with his small hand and pushing Chuck’s shoulder.

“For the last time, we’re here.” JC said, squeaky voice getting increasingly more pissed off.

“Huh?” Chuck had to ask, looking out the window, seeing the liquor store in front of him.

“Oh my god,” JC hissed, rolling his eyes again, “we’re. Here. Idiot.”

He squinted at JC, wanting to say something about not being an idiot but, well. He was man enough to admit that he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, especially not when drunk. 

“I can’t go in there.” He said instead of defending his honor.

“What? Why not?”

“I’m not old enough. Hey, wait, how are you gonna go in there, there’s no way you’re old enough either. You got a fake or something?” Chuck said, leaning back against the door.

JC rolled his eyes again, kicking his door open.

“I’m twenty-one. Come on, they’re not going to card us both and I need your help carrying stuff.”

He was probably right, as long as he brought the stuff up to the counter and let JC do the talking, they probably wouldn’t card them both. They walked into the store together and Chuck picked up the finest beer his ten dollars could buy, two packs of cheap beer, hauling it over to the counter and standing behind JC.

The cashier’s eyes flicked between the both of them, JC to him and then back to JC. He shook his head almost instantly, fixing them both with a frown.

“I’m gonna need to see some ID from both of you.” The guy said, and JC grabbed his arm then, dragging him out of the liquor store, leaving the beer on the counter.

“Told you.” Chuck said, sliding back into the car.

“I think I saw another place a little further up the street. You’ll just give me the cash and I’ll go in by myself.” JC said, starting the car again.

But that liquor store was closed, and so was the next one. And the one after that didn’t have any beer cheap enough that their ten dollars could buy enough for everyone, so it really seemed like they were out of luck, which was a shame because Chuck was definitely starting to sober up.

“Just go buy some bourbon or something for us, we just won’t go back to the party, they’re not going to notice.” Chuck finally suggested, needing something to take the edge off of disappointing those older guys.

JC disappeared back into the liquor store, coming out with a brown bag and driving back to the motel. He parked far away from everyone else, driving around the back to avoid being seen by anyone who went outside for a smoke break. After all, they really didn’t have enough for everyone and they’d blown it at the only store that was open that had the cheap beer.

He’d apparently had enough of the shitty nu metal mixtape, reaching over and turning the music to the radio, scrolling through until he found something he thought was worth listening to while Chuck cracked into the bottle, taking a sip and then handing it over to JC.

JC immediately grimaced at the taste and then he started coughing, pushing the bottle into Chuck’s hands, bourbon definitely wasn’t his usual drink of choice. Chuck couldn’t help but laugh a little, taking another swig of the bourbon, looking around for some sort of water to give to him. There wasn’t any of course, nothing to help him through the burn, Chuck reaching over and patting his shoulder before he could really think of a reason not to.

That little hand on his leg, almost falling on him, his hand on JC’s shoulder, he shouldn’t be touching him like that. He had to force his hand to come off of his body, maybe the bourbon was hitting him harder than he realized, peeling his hand away from JC and gripping the bottle in two hands, white knuckles on the glass bottle.

“You alright, JC?” He asked, focused on the label, cheeks a little pink.

“I’m fine,” he said, and then, “wait, JC?”

“Uh, yeah, isn’t that your name?” Chuck said, suddenly feeling like he might’ve picked wrong.

He expected another bitchy eye roll and scoff, but this weird squeaky sound was coming from him instead, and it took a few seconds for Chuck to realize that he was laughing. It was such a strange laugh, but it made Chuck laugh too, feeling warm from more than the bourbon. Not-JC took the bottle from him then, taking another swig, grimacing but not choking on it.

Like he could get used to it or something, the taste of bourbon, licking his lips and grinning at Chuck.

“OC,” he said, “Orange Cassidy. Can I tell you something?”

Chuck flushed, hands sweating a little. What could OC… _Orange_ want to tell him? And why was he blushing about it? He didn’t have the answers but, that small hand on his leg, ridiculously shiny blond hair, that guy telling them about what a girl let him do to her...maybe it was just a combination of the weird night and the alcohol buzzing through his body? Still, he nodded and Orange’s grin grew a little sheepish.

“I can’t remember your name either.”

That set them both off into another laughing fit. That was probably why Orange was looking at him so much, he was trying to remember his name.

“Chuck Taylor.” He said, when he could breathe again.

“Nice to meet you...uh, again.” Orange responded, holding his hand out.

Chuck took it before he could think of a reason not to, staring down at that small hand as it was engulfed by his own. He should’ve shaken it then, nice to meet you and all, but...that tiny hand on his leg, sliding up higher, all of those things he shouldn’t think about, what that guy had mentioned doing with that hot fan, but there was no hot girl there, just their hands clasped together over the center console, neither one of them moving to try and break the hold.

But then some nu metal sounding song came on and Orange cleared his throat, turning his attention to the radio, hand sliding out of Chuck’s to turn the dials instead.

“I can’t escape this crap.” He said, scoffing, and Chuck laughed.

“You might be in the wrong business then.”

“Probably.”

He passed the bottle back to Chuck then, Chuck taking a desperately needed gulp, trying to ignore the fact that Orange’s lips had just been on the bottle, the glass still warm from his breath. Shit, maybe he should’ve suggested something that they wouldn’t have had to share, just a six pack split between the two of them. Chuck passed the bottle back over to him, their fingers brushing against the glass, and he had to bite back a gasp.

Damn, all of that bourbon really was hitting him, watching Orange’s lips against the mouth of the bottle, drinking from the same place he’d just had his own mouth. He watched the way his throat worked around his mouthful. Shit, he needed some water, his mouth was dry...but the bourbon would have to do, Orange handing the bottle back to him.

Chuck let his eyes slip shut, drinking deeply from the bottle. His skin was hot, flushed all of a sudden, like...like he was being watched. His eyes slid open then, wondering who was watching him, worried for a second that the guys had found them and were going to get mad at them for not bringing any beer back. But there was no one else, the parking lot as dead as it had been since they pulled in, no one standing outside the car. It was just him and...and Orange. Turning his head, Orange was looking at him, watching him drink, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, cheeks flushed. He looked away quickly when Chuck turned his head, facing forward.

And Chuck didn’t know what any of it meant but he liked that Orange was looking at him. He hardly knew him, but he liked that he was looking at him, liked it when he touched him, his hand on his leg, grabbing his arm to drag him out of the liquor store, their hands clasped together. And he’d met plenty of people in wrestling, that much was true, but this Orange guy was somehow different from the people he’d liked and the people he’d hated, and Chuck didn’t know why.

So he just passed the bottle to Orange, expecting him to take a drink. Instead, he just stared at the label for a few seconds before his eyes flicked up to Chuck’s, staring at him, bold over the center console where their hands had connected. Chuck wanted to look away but, for some reason, he just couldn’t do it, staring right into Orange’s eyes.

“I’m going to sit in the back.” He said.

And he’d said it like he was saying something else, but Chuck’s eyebrows furrowed. He just couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.

“Okay.” He said in response, and Orange didn’t roll his eyes but it was close.

He slid out of the car then and into the backseat. It was pretty inconvenient that Chuck was going to have to pass the bottle back to him, but Orange spread himself out, capping the bottle and setting it to the side.

“You should sit back here too.”

That made sense, it probably would be more comfortable back there. They wouldn’t have to pass the bottle over the center console or back and forth from the front and back seat, so Chuck took his lead, getting out, into the cold December air. It was starting to snow, just a flurry, little flakes floating through the air. He stood out there for a little too long, wondering if he was just crazy, wondering if it meant nothing. 

That feeling in his chest, he’d never felt it before. He wasn’t sure if he wanted it to mean anything, maybe putting meaning to that feeling would make it scarier than it already was. Because he was scared, he was terrified actually. Like a child, falling for the first time, scraping his knee, crying because he couldn’t figure out how to express the way he was feeling. Twenty was too old to be discovering new feelings, but he was twenty and he was every other age that came before, and Orange was waiting for him to get in the car and do...something other than just standing there.

That hand on his leg, would it slide higher if Orange put it back there? And did he even want it like that, he’d never...with another guy before, he never thought he’d wanted to. But Orange had been in his life for just a few hours, and he was thinking all sorts of strange thoughts, thinking that…

Well. Thinking that he might want it.

But, what if Orange didn’t want it? What if he was looking too far into things, eyes bold over the center console. He’d never done this with another guy, but he’d been with girls before, knew that...y’know. Stuff. Tended to happen in the backseat. And Orange had said that he should get in the backseat too, so...did he want that nebulous stuff to happen? That guy, talking about what that girl let him do, would…

Well, no, probably not. Chuck didn’t even really know how that’d work, and that didn’t really feel like something you did in a car, especially not the first time you ever fooled around with a guy. That feels like a later on sort of thing, when you have a little more experience, and he wasn’t even sure that Orange was going to like it but...whatever, they probably wouldn’t see each other that often. The wrestling scene was wide and he didn’t think that he’d be sticking around in the Philadelphia area for that long anyway, doing a brief tour before heading back home to the midsouth scene instead. 

He could do this and it wouldn’t be weird, because it’d probably be a few months before he saw Orange again and...maybe he wouldn’t even like it. 

Right. He was still standing in the snow. Chuck slid into the backseat, suddenly feeling more than a little dumb and very lost. But Orange was passing him the bottle, looking lost too, and he knew that some more bourbon would probably confuse him further, but it would also make him relax.

He took another sip, passing the bottle over to Orange. But Orange just put the lid back on it again, setting it to the side and shifting a little closer to him. Chuck opened his mouth to ask for it back or to tell him to keep drinking, keep it all normal, where it should be. Two guys, drinking in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, perfectly normal things. But no words came out as he moved a little close as well.

And a little closer.

And a little closer still.

Chuck’s heart was hammering in his chest, palms starting to sweat, Orange was facing him then, their thighs brushing together. His little hand found Chuck’s thigh and it felt like it was where it belonged, this scrawny guy with the blondest hair he’d ever seen, Chuck knew that it was a sign that he should make a move, that he _could_ make a move.

He knew that he had to do it so he wouldn’t lose his nerve, wiping his hand on his shirt before cupping Orange’s face and bringing him in, bringing their lips together and kissing him.

Chuck didn’t know what he expected to happen, kissing a guy for the first time. He expected it to feel different for some reason, his mouth rougher and more masculine, some stubble. But Orange must’ve shaved that morning because there was no stubble, and his lips were soft and sweet under his own. He never liked kissing, but Orange was opening up all sweet for him, sighing into it happily, and he figured that he could learn to like kissing if he was kissing Orange.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands besides grabbing at his face, but they were starting to get a little sweaty again so he figured that he should move them. Orange had his hands on his shoulders, and Chuck thought that it might be weird if he did the same, so he let his hands find his hips again, fingers spread out. Orange really was that much smaller than him, it was sort of insane if he was being honest...like how could someone be that small and that blond?

Chuck pulled back, looking down at him. The flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes fluttered open, it put that weird feeling back into his chest. God, maybe kissing a guy was a little different? He tried to think about kissing some other guy though and it just made him feel the same way as it would to kiss a girl, doable but not his favorite part. And it still wasn’t his favorite part but...there really was just something good about kissing Orange.

He didn’t know. Maybe he was just that drunk. He felt fumbly, deciding that he wanted to get Orange’s shirt off then, looking at his ridiculous abs. And he figured that he should leave his shirt on, but Orange was yanking his off too and leaning back in for another kiss.

Their first kiss had been on the sweeter side but the second one had him feeling like he needed to escalate things, they couldn’t just make out in someone else’s rental car until they got bored, there had to be some sort of destination. The beat of the tambourine in the song on the college station Orange had dialed in, fuzzing in and out, a tiny hand back on his leg like it fit there. And maybe it did, maybe there was a reason for him to be in Philadelphia...maybe he just wanted to see him again. Maybe their lips were meant to be slotted together.

Or maybe he’d had too much to drink. Maybe it was a mix of both. And maybe he’d think about taking more bookings on those Philly shows if it meant being closer to Orange. Being able to do this more, he had thought that he might want it to be a one time thing but Orange was shifting closer and licking into his mouth, making him groan, already overwhelmed.

He was hard in his jeans already just from a kiss, maybe it was the alcohol or the feeling of getting something you didn’t know you wanted, because there was something different about kissing a boy. It wasn’t something he’d ever let himself want but...well, it had always been there, hadn’t it? Sitting in the backseat, kissing a boy, if he really focused, he could feel a bit of stubble but he was way more concerned with tasting the bourbon on his tongue.

Somehow, it tasted better in his mouth. Which probably didn’t make much sense, but the cheap bourbon on Orange’s tongue tasted better and that was just how it was. The bourbon tasted better and he was kissing a boy, and he wanted to keep on kissing him, wanted to come back to Philadelphia so he could do it again and again.

Planning his career path around a guy. Maybe he could move to Philadelphia, maybe Kentucky had offered everything it could. He barely knew this guy but...maybe he could get to know him better. Tiny hands, pushing into his hair, hauling himself up with a groan, getting right in Chuck’s lap.

And his body felt so good against Chuck’s, the flat planes, muscles and soft, warm skin. And they were kissing, Orange was fucking sucking on his tongue like he was crazy for it, and Chuck was so hard all of a sudden, like harder than he’d ever been. Orange a great kisser and his body was ridiculous and he was sinking down onto his lap, grinding his little ass against his dick and--

Chuck let out a broken moan, head falling back, orgasm hitting him like a truck sideswiping a bicycle, brutal and inelegant. But it was good, it was so good, chest heaving as he ruined the inside of his boxers, crushing Orange against him and rutting up against him. He’d never thought of himself as a quickshot before but...well, he’d just met the guy and there was just something about him, something that Chuck knew could become some sort of a problem.

He could like him. He couldn’t introduce him to his parents or his friends, not in that way, but...he could like him, and that was definitely going to be a problem.

“Did you just…” Orange asked, a little breathless, still hard at the front of his jeans.

“Yeah...uh, yeah. Sorry.” He said, cringing at himself.

Orange was probably going to laugh at him, so it probably wasn’t going to turn into a problem actually. He’d just gotten into Chuck’s lap and Chuck had blown his load into his pants, he felt ridiculous and embarrassed, there was no way Orange was going to ever let him touch him again.

But Orange was cupping his face, a little smirk on his face. Like...like he liked it or something. Chuck didn’t know, he was too busy apologizing.

“Chuck, it’s alright.” Orange said, biting his lip, like maybe he was trying to hold back a laugh or something.

Chuck hated being laughed at, but Orange wasn’t laughing at him, not yet, so Chuck slid his hand up, cupping him hard through his jeans and starting to rub. He’d never done that before, but it was the same thing as rubbing himself off, just at a different angle. So he just tried to copy what he did, and Orange wasn’t laughing or anywhere close after that, gasping and arching up into his hand.

He could probably take him out of his jeans and jerk him off directly but, if he was being honest, kissing another guy and touching him was a hell of a lot already, he wasn’t sure if he could handle actually seeing his dick. He was drunk and overwhelmed enough to quickshot in his pants just from getting Orange into his lap, he might fully pass out if he saw what his dick looked like. 

Maybe that could wait for another time? He hoped that there would be another time, knew that he had to do a good enough job to make it so that he could be given a second chance. He wasn’t going to come early ever again, not the next time or the time after that, he made a vow with himself right then and there. Never again.

Any laughter from Orange had died out into a moan, he couldn’t talk considering that he seemed to be close already, loud pants and ragged moans joining the sound of the college station in the background. His little hands found Chuck’s shoulders, fingertips digging in tight, holding on as Chuck continued to rub him through his jeans. 

Chuck muffled his own shivery noises into Orange’s neck. He could probably get hard again if he wasn’t so drunk, but his skin felt like he was on fire and it was just a lot, and it was happening all at once, digging his teeth into Orange’s neck when Orange gave a particularly loud moan, bucking up hard into his hand, gasping out his name, it was a lot and he could probably get hard again, despite the alcohol, and--

Orange came then, gasping out his name again, fingers gripping him so tight that it hurt. And Chuck held him in close when he fell against his chest, holding him through it, letting Orange grind hard against his body, hand moving to grip his hips and bring him in close. He let out the prettiest moans Chuck had ever heard in his life, prettier than any girlfriend he’d ever had.

“Fuck.” Orange said after a while, voice high, thin, pretty.

“Fuck.” Chuck echoed, voice low and gravel deep, inelegant.

Chuck laid back after that, legs bunched up against the door, Orange on top of him. He figured that the kissing was probably over, but Orange was shifting up and sliding their lips together again, lazily kissing him. And he’d always thought about kissing as something he needed to do to get someone worked up enough to let him get his hands down their pants, but...it was sort of nice. Kissing without any goal. It was nice because it was Orange, and he didn’t really know him that well but, kissing without any goal, maybe the goal was to get to know him more?

Chuck didn’t really know. But Orange was kissing him, and Chuck was kissing him back, and it just felt nice. It felt good and nice, and Chuck wasn’t in any hurry anymore. Like kissing Orange cleared up any of the weird brain buzz, he wasn’t worried about what the others would think when they didn’t return with beer for everyone. They probably sent some of the other young boys to go get some for them, not caring about them, not even remembering their names.

Orange’s shoulders were shaking then and he was making this weird noise into his mouth. Chuck had to pull back, realizing that Orange was...was laughing. And he was worried for a second that Orange was laughing at him, remembering how quickly he came, but Orange was opening his mouth to speak, cute little squeaks coming out between words.

“I can’t believe we did this in someone else’s rental car.” He said, and Chuck had to laugh too.

“Neither of us can even rent a car.” Chuck said in return, which just made Orange laugh even harder until they were both cracking up.

Eventually, they’d have to return the car to the front of the motel, slip away into their own motel rooms, shared with five other guys. But, as they laughed together, Chuck figured that, for once, he didn’t have to rush.


	2. 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bill was a bad friend.
> 
> orange definitely wasn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was actually the first chapter i wrote, and it's still one of my favorites for the whole fic. i like how it came out.
> 
> featuring bill carr being a bit of a dick because we all woke up independently and were like "yea can see that", so he became the fandom assigned jerk. sorry, bill.
> 
> enjoy!

Look, it was supposed to be some big joke, alright? Maybe it wasn’t particularly funny but Bill Carr had dared him to go up to the girl at the bar and tell her that she had nice hooters, and it was supposed to be a joke.

Alright, it definitely wasn’t funny. It wasn’t even a clever joke or framed as a joke, walking up to a girl and telling her that she had nice hooters. But he was drunk and Bill was drunker, so...he did it. Walked right up to her, told her that she had nice hooters, and--

Well. He caught a vodka cranberry to the face for his trouble. Bill howled with laughter in the background, and Chuck realized a little too late that, actually, he was the joke there. Standing there, shirt stained pink from cranberry juice, dripping down his face. She had good aim, he was completely soaked and frozen to the spot.

He really didn’t know why he said it, it was just that Bill and some of the other guys kept buying him shots and his head was swimming, and...he didn’t know. He wanted to be liked? Felt the need to..to impress Bill and the other guys there. But they weren’t impressed, they were laughing. And they were laughing at him, and he felt so wholly unimpressive and so very young.

It felt so high school, trying to impress the older guys, drinking shots that they all bought for him, trying to keep up. There were other young guys there, Drew Gulak was younger than him, but he felt so young there, rooted to the spot. They were all laughing at him, his face was as red as the vodka cranberry splashed into it, and his eyes were stinging. Probably from the tart juice and the vodka. Whatever.

He knew that he should turn around, laugh along. But he was rooted to the spot, staring at the empty space where that woman had been. Shit, he was such an asshole, she was just trying to enjoy her night without some fucking piece of shit kid telling her that she had nice hooters or whatever. 

Whatever. The joke really was on him. That was the only reason they’d been buying him drinks, getting him all liquor dumb and messy, leaning against the bar with a sticky hand. So everyone could laugh at him. Even Drew, they were supposed to be friends but he was laughing at him too, a nervous little sound coming out of him. Like he wanted to be cool too, he was cool though. Cool enough where they weren’t going to have him make a fool out of himself for their amusement.

He knew that he should move. Knew that he should laugh it off, knew that he should go to the bathroom and clean himself off. Knew that he should stop staring at that empty space in front of him, that his eyes were starting to sting from more than just the liquor in them, but his mind was racing, telling him over and over again that he was just some big joke and--

Chuck felt so small and young and stupid. And he was soaking wet and sticky with cranberry juice, and his eyes were starting to sting real bad and--

A small hand on the small of his back, pushing him a little. Not everyone was laughing. Chuck looked down, a little startled by the sight of unguarded blue eyes and a look of concern written clear on a usually emotionless face. Orange was drunk too but no one had been buying him shots, no one that was supposed to be his friend had been treating him like a joke.

“You okay?” He asked, voice quiet.

And his words rattled in his brain. He was wet and sticky, and ‘okay’ definitely wasn’t the first word that came to his mind. But he could still hear the excited chatter of the group, so maybe they could hear him too. Chuck didn’t want them to hear him telling Orange that he’d taken this shit too seriously, that he’d been the only one who couldn’t take a joke. Take being a joke. He knew that taking some lumps was a part of wrestling, that he was just being sensitive.

But...he was wet. And sticky. And his eyes were really starting to sting, even though there wasn’t any cranberry juice in them, and he knew that he was just being sensitive but maybe that was who he was. He didn’t want to be sensitive but he was, and his eyes were red rimmed as they stared into pretty blue, willing himself to say that he was okay, but he opened his mouth and no words were coming out and--

“He got some juice in his eyes, I’m gonna take him to go clean up in the bathroom.” Orange explained over his shoulder, like he knew that Chuck wasn’t okay.

Probably because he hadn’t said anything, just stared at him with red, wet eyes, mouth gaped like a fish. Fuck, he was such a baby, but Orange was pushing with that little hand on the small of his back until he moved, unrooting him from that spot on the bar floor, throwing an arm on his shoulder like he was letting Orange lead him. True to Orange’s like, like he couldn’t see.

He could see fine. Little blond head, tucked under his shoulder, uncaring that people were watching them. He never seemed to care about anything like that, he’d never let people laugh at him like that. If a girl threw her drink in his face, he’d be laughing it off like everyone else. He wouldn’t take it so hard.

It was late enough that the bar was starting to clear out, there were only a few people standing in line and it moved quick enough. Orange didn’t say anything but kept his hand on the small of Chuck’s back, a soft pressure. It had him flushing in a different way, they didn’t...they didn’t talk about that thing they did. It was only sometimes after all, in the dark at night, stolen moments in the backseat of someone’s rental car when they went on a booze run together.

The bathroom lights were bright above their heads, it was the brightest dive bathroom he’d ever seen in his entire life. He looked at himself in the mirror, face wet and flushed, eyes red rimmed, hair soaked. He looked fucking pathetic, like some big joke. Maybe those guys were right to laugh at him.

Orange locked the door behind them and Chuck turned away from the mirror. Despite the bright lights, the place was still clearly a dive bar bathroom, messy and a little smelly, joints and cigarettes put out on the sink, the toilet in horrible condition. And, yet, he was probably the worst thing in there, feeling low and raw as Orange grabbed some paper towels and wet them in the sink.

He’d warmed the water up first, cheap paper soothing as he started to wipe at his face. It was strange, no one had touched him that softly since he’d moved away from home. Not even any of the girls he’d dated. But Orange’s hands were small and soft, and he wiped that tight, sticky feeling right away from him. Like he knew that...knew that Chuck was sensitive, and, yet, he wasn’t going to make fun of him. His hands were small and soft on his face, and he was wiping at his eyes and Chuck wasn’t going to cry but...it was close. 

“I don’t know why they had to be so mean to you, Chuck.” He said, voice small as he wet another paper towel.

“It’s uh...it’s just a rib, it’s okay. I’m okay, I promise.”

Orange gave him a look then. Like it wasn’t okay, actually. It put something weird into his chest, he didn’t know how to describe it but...well, he just didn’t know. It was a weird feeling and it was in his chest, and that was all he knew. His mind was too tangled up to unpack it, he just knew that Orange didn’t think it was okay so...maybe it wasn’t okay.

“They shouldn’t treat you like that.” Orange insisted, dabbing at the pink spots on his shirt.

It was definitely a lost cause, he was going to have to throw that shirt out. It was just a t-shirt, he wasn’t so mad about it, he had plenty of them. But, still, he let him poke at the stains, spreading them out further, fading them but setting them in. A bruise that wouldn’t go away, poking at it because he wanted it to hurt.

It hurt already, the sting, the stain. Ruining his shirt, laughter ringing in his ear, Orange poking and poking and _poking_ and--

Chuck’s hand came up, circling around both of Orange’s little wrists, pulling them away from his body. His skin was soft and he flushed so pretty under his grip, gasping softly, pale eyelashes fluttering. He looked beautiful, and Chuck would usually try something when he looked like that, like he wanted Chuck to try something, but his brain was buzzing in that bad way.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” He asked, voice a little hoarse, fingers clutching a little too tightly around his wrists.

“ _Why didn’t you laugh like the others?_ ” He didn’t ask, even though the question was raising hard in the back of his throat, bubbling up, rising like bile.

Those awful words that he did and didn’t want to say, “ _why don’t you think I’m a loser like everyone else does?_ ”

“ _What do you see when you look at me? What do you see that they don’t, that I don’t?_ ”

He was shaking then, those words that he knew he couldn’t say, hard at the back of his throat.

“Chuck,” Orange breathed, like he’d heard those unspoken words, rattled by them, “we’re…”

And he cut himself off like he’d wanted to say something else. Chuck didn’t want to hear what he really meant, couldn’t want to hear it. Knew that he wouldn’t like what Orange really wanted to say, in that too bright dive bar bathroom that reeked of piss and skunk weed.

Knew that he’d like it too much.

“We’re friends,” Orange said, looking up at him, “I-I...I like you. We’re friends.”

He said it so simply, like it was something he was supposed to know. And he guessed that it made sense but, with everyone laughing at him like that, he’d felt alone until he’d felt that small hand on the small of his back. Orange led him away from the laughter, cleaning him up. They were friends. Orange liked him…

With his grip on his wrists, Chuck crushed Orange’s little body against his chest, his free hand sliding down to his hips. He didn’t know when he had gotten hard, just that he was, pressed up against Orange. Suddenly needy, grinding his hips up against him. He liked him too, liked that they were friends, liked that Orange liked him. He just liked being liked, liked that someone out there hadn’t been laughing at him.

For the first time since getting that drink thrown in his face, Chuck grinned, toothy and wide. He let go of Orange’s wrists, hand tilting his face up. He liked being liked, liked looking down at Orange’s face and knowing for certain that they were friends.

He knew that he was really lucky to have a friend like Orange, knew that they were friends but, as he leaned down to kiss him, he thought that it was nice to hear it. Orange sighed sweetly into the kiss, tossing the paper towel over his shoulder, landing wetly on the floor as he pushed his hands into Chuck’s sticky hair. 

Orange pulled back, licking his lips and laughing softly.

“Vodka cranberry, huh?” He said, grinning up at Chuck.

“Yeah, man. I think I’ve had enough of those for one lifetime.”

And Orange laughed that loud laugh of his, the one where he was laughing at something Chuck had said that he thought was really funny. It made him smile, made him feel that weird feeling in his chest again. He thought that it might be a good feeling. His eyes didn’t sting anymore, but they were crinkled up, squinting at Orange as he laughed at a joke that wasn’t even funny, grinning at him.

He had to pull him back in for another kiss after that, Orange laughing against his lips. He wasn’t laughing anymore when Chuck slid his tongue in, licking into his mouth all wet and dirty. Chuck had told him once that he didn’t like kissing but there was something about kissing Orange that wasn’t so bad, that was _good_ , probably because he seemed to really liked it. Like he liked Chuck, like he’d be content to just do that sometimes. 

Chuck never used to be satisfied with just kissing, it was usually just the starting point. Obligation. When they first started this, he’d tried to not want to kiss Orange much at all but there was just something about it that wasn’t just about indulging him, licking hot and filthy into his mouth. It made him feel sort of frantic if he was being honest, impatient maybe, but he could kiss Orange just like that for at least a little while. He wanted to kiss Orange as much as possible, licking into his mouth, feeling him react so perfectly. Like how he’d reacted in the car all of those years ago, in their stolen moments in motel rooms shared with five other guys. Good and warm.

They still were in a bar bathroom though. Chuck didn’t particularly care if anyone else needed to use the bathroom but, as much as thinking about them all out there was a little upsetting, they still were all out there, waiting for them to come back out. Waiting to laugh at Chuck more. So they couldn’t take their time, not like they ever took their time. But Orange was kissing him and it felt better than any other kiss he’d ever had, and he…

He didn’t know. Didn’t know what it meant to want to take his time with Orange. But he did, wished they had all the time in the world. They didn’t though, and Chuck was starting to feel real keyed up, erection pressing urgently against Orange, they didn’t have all the time in the world.

In a way, he still felt rooted to that spot in the bar, everyone laughing at him. His eyes rimmed red, feeling so low and small, like a little kid. But Orange had pulled him out of it, brought him to the bathroom, he was usually the one to take care of him when he got too drunk, hauling him back to their motel room, laying down on the floor next to him because they always lost the coin flip for the bed.

Just this once, Orange could take care of him. Unroot him from that spot, breaking through the laughter, clearing his head. Untangling the strands of his awful thoughts, getting a peak at what was inside. It was scary though, letting Orange do that, letting Orange look into red rimmed eyes, past the more acceptable parts of him, the ‘nice hooters, babe’ that got the drink thrown in his face.

So he broke the kiss, hands finding Orange’s hips, thinking about getting him up on the counter to grind against him like they usually did. Maybe Orange would give him a handjob, they did that sometimes too if they had the time. But he hesitated, looking at the wet, dirty counter and then at Orange’s light wash jeans.

It’d be real obvious if Orange got up on that counter, there’d be a big wet spot on his ass, and everyone would...everyone would know what they had done. Seeing him for who he really was, the parts of him that he’d hidden in their moments in the dark. He was too aware that it was the brightest bathroom he’d ever been in, and Orange was pawing at him, trying to pull him in, trying to get him to lift him up onto that counter. 

Like what they normally did but...it wasn’t _normal_ , what they did. If they all laughed at him for getting a drink thrown at him, what would they do if they knew what they did in the dark together...how would they react?

He didn’t want to find out.

“The counter’s all wet, man. I don’t want your jeans to get soaked.” He said and Orange nodded, much to his relief.

They could stand, it’d be fine. Not the most comfortable position but they could lean against the counter a little and, if Orange lost his balance, Chuck could hold him up, he was pretty scrawny. It’d work out for them.

But then Orange wasn’t standing anymore, he was getting lower and lower, and it took Chuck a little too long to realize that he was kneeling in front of him. His eyes went wide and, for a fraction of a second, he thought about pulling him back up to his feet because they’d never done _that_ before. Maybe it wasn’t a line that they should cross, because hands and hips felt like just a means to an end, something to do when they had no one else to do, this was definitely crossing that line.

Chuck knew that he should pull Orange up or tell him not to, but then Orange was leaning in and mouthing at him through his jeans and-- fuck, it felt so good. Chuck gasped, threading his fingers through short blond strands. He really meant to pull him up but his mouth was so hot, even through his jeans, and he knew that he was flushing all sorts of vodka cranberry red, but he couldn’t help but pull him in harder.

Orange looked a little lost down there, like he hadn’t ever done it before, but it didn’t really matter. Not when Chuck was that keyed up, thrusting against his mouth already. His fingers fumbled with his fly, unzipping him and getting the button open. Chuck shoved his pants down to his thighs, eager and needy, there were people out there waiting for them to come back, Chuck didn’t want to go back there to get laughed at again, but this moment couldn’t last forever and…

And he couldn’t want it to last forever. Even if...he did…

He wanted that moment to last forever, Orange on his knees in front of him, Bill Carr and people who were supposed to be his friends outside, waiting to laugh at him again. They weren’t his friends, but Orange was, and he was pulling his cock out of his pants and stroking him once, looking up at him like he was trying to psyche himself up.

A part of Chuck would always be rooted to that spot in the bathroom, leaving little fragments of himself everywhere he went because he just couldn’t hold it together. Standing there by the bar, dripping vodka cranberry everywhere, the people who were supposed to be his friends howling with laughter. Orange there, on his knees, licking slowly at the head of his dick like he was tasting him, tasting his pre-cum, Bill Carr wasn’t his friend but Orange was…

Orange was wrapping his lips around the head of his cock, sucking once, and Chuck was so keyed up and desperate, needing something other than the sticky vodka cranberry and laughter, needing something more than Orange’s mouth against his lips. It just took the one little suck, testing how it felt to have Chuck’s dick in his mouth, tongue running against it...tasting him…

He should’ve given him some warning, but he needed the warning himself, cumming so sudden, bitter and fast on Orange’s tongue. Christ, he hadn’t even gotten more than the head into his mouth but he was cumming and Orange was gasping as it kept on coming. He pulled back, coughing and gasping, and Chuck shot all over his face too like a real asshole, gasping out apologies.

Christ. What the fuck was wrong with him? He couldn’t even hold it together to get a proper blowjob, too keyed up and desperate. His chest was heaving, he was pretty sure he was sweating and shaking, fingers clenched way too hard against Orange’s head. But Orange was gasping too, eyes rolling up a little like...like he liked it.

“Fuck...sorry.” Chuck gasped again, and Orange shook his head.

Orange would’ve had every right to laugh at him. Out there, vodka cranberry dripping down Chuck’s face, in the bathroom, cum dripping down his own face, in that rental car a few years back, sitting on his lap, lips quirked up into a smirk. He was a fucking joke and a quickshot at that, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t cum that quick ever again, and Orange should’ve been laughing at him but he wasn’t. Instead, he watched as Orange swiped his fingers through the mess on his face, looking at them.

His cock gave one last ditch effort to stay hard as he watched Orange suck the cum off of his fingers, eyes lidded, cheeks flushed.

“...Sorry.” He mumbled one last time.

“It’s okay. You were good, I promise.” He said.

And Orange must’ve been drunker than he thought for him to think of _that_ as a good thing. But he was reaching over to push more of his cum into Orange’s mouth, and Orange was reaching for his own fly to pull himself out, lips closing around Chuck’s fingers and sucking again.

He knew that they needed to get back out there. Knew that he couldn’t live in that moment for forever but, as Orange started to jerk himself off, moaning around the fingers in his mouth, he figured that they could have a little more time.


	3. 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he was always going to come home to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, orange is done on elevation, i can update this now. 
> 
> i really like how this one turned out! i think it's a time period that's always going to stick with me, chuck and the pwg belt. so...have him losing it. this isn't in the canon of the road trip fic, but i do reference it because of course i did. i also referenced another fic of mine, which was the fourth fic i wrote for the fandom. that one is canon to this i guess haha!
> 
> please enjoy!

He still remembered how it felt to win it all, driving his body to the limit, the rope burn on his hands, around his neck, arm raised...the belt high above his shoulder. Bone tired but...good. Satisfied and good. Calling Orange over the phone, his voice warm through the line, it had been good. 

Warm like the Reseda Legion Hall in July, the oppressive heat, overwhelming in all of the best ways. Orange’s voice, warm through the line, and _”call me when you win”_...

It wasn’t July anymore. California was still warm in October, the Legion Hall was always hot, but...it wasn’t July, so maybe that was why everything got so fucked up. Maybe July brought a certain confidence or...or something.

Or maybe it was a lame fucking excuse. When had he ever been confident, he hadn’t been confident facing Zack, hadn’t been confident when he pinned him for the three, hadn’t been confident when he raised that belt high in the air and said something about holding it for nine years, it hadn’t even been nine months. 

Beating Zack had been big, he’d never beaten Zack until he did, pinned him, raised the belt over his head. He hadn’t beaten Zack, but he’d beat Ricochet, like, a thousand times. Over their history, in parking lots, in high school gyms, in backyards, he’d beaten Ricochet and Ricochet had beaten him, an unending game of receipts and rubber matches, a game of ping pong that they just couldn’t leave alone. Beating Zack had been big, but beating Ricochet was just as second nature as losing to him.

He’d lost and won in the backyards, in high school gyms, back when Ricochet still was in high school, and parking lots. And he lost there in the Reseda Legion Hall, Ricochet with the belt high above his head, Chuck looking up at him, at it. That skinny kid he trained, the man he’d become, more of a man than Chuck probably ever would be if he was being honest. A game of ping pong, Ricochet had scored and...and Chuck would have to pick the paddle up again, set down on the table.

He wanted to walk away. Leave the paddle, go to a different table but...they’d always pick it up again, wouldn’t they? Cursed to play that game with Ricochet, he knew that putting the paddle down was always just going to be temporary. Playing that game forever. He hated ping pong.

And, honestly, he sort of hated Ricochet. He couldn’t ever hate him, hate him, but, as he stood there, the belt raised high, Chuck on his back, he did. He hated him then, he wouldn’t hate him in the future, closing his eyes, seeing that skinny kid who only needed to be shown a move once to be able to do it, he couldn’t hate that part of him. He’d always be him, he’d always be that kid and the guy holding up the belt, high above his head, Chuck staring up at him. Chuck would always hate and love Ricochet, and maybe that was his problem. 

Maybe he’d been confident enough. Maybe he just hadn’t taken it seriously though, just another match, just another loss to Ricochet. Another point for him, he’d lost track so long ago, but on they played. Endlessly. 

A knock at the window distracted him from his thoughts. He’d made it home from the airport but had stayed in the car, eyes fixed on the steering wheel in front of him. October in Philadelphia, Orange stood there, wrapped up in his denim jacket, peering in through the window.

And he was a sight for sore eyes if Chuck was being honest. He was being honest a lot those days, a lot more honest than he’d ever been before. Orange, warm sunlight making his hair glow, a soft smile on his usually blank face, blond eyebrows knit together like he was a little concerned. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, he must’ve just come outside to...to see him, sitting there in the car, staring at the steering wheel. Lost in his thoughts.

He hadn’t called him after that match, left his phone in his room and got wasted at some bar he’d never been to, far away from where everyone else went after the shows. He’d wanted to be alone, he’d never been good at being alone but...he wanted to be alone then. Drinking alone, ignoring the few people that might’ve wanted to talk to him. Stumbled back, nursed his hangover in the morning and ignored a few more calls, flew back the next day. He couldn’t be alone any more, not with a roommate who apparently cared enough to come outside and check up on him.

Orange had to have found out from twitter, a little sympathetic look on his face. It had been why he’d avoided everyone, he didn’t want the sympathy. Shitty Chuck, losing another match, losing the belt this time. It should’ve been expected, he couldn’t ever pull out a win against Ricochet when it really mattered.

Chuck hated sympathy but seeing that little look on Orange’s face just made all of the hot air inside of him escape all at once, flying around the room like a balloon that someone let go of, rooted to that one spot, looking over at Orange.

He got out of the car. His bag was in the back but none of that mattered, he could get it later, coming around the side quickly, suddenly feeling a need. A craving. He needed to have Orange in his arms, it was a need.

So. He did. Right there in front of their apartment, he pulled Orange into his arms, wrapping his whole body around him. He felt warm and good, October in Philadelphia, a little warmth left in the sun. He dipped his head down, pressing his nose against the crown of his head, inhaling deeply. He smelled as good as he felt and Chuck sighed, pressing a kiss where his nose had been.

He’d been thinking too hard lately, it felt nice for all of the thoughts in his head to evaporate. Hot air, leaving his body all at once. Orange in his arms. He should’ve called him, he’d probably wanted him to. Shouldn’t have disappeared, should’ve let everyone commiserate with him. Orange’s voice, warm through the line, his body warm in his arms. It would’ve felt a hell of a lot better than drinking alone.

If Orange was unhappy about it, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t say much of course, but he sighed contentedly in Chuck’s arms, sinking in, letting him hold him. Holding him up, holding him in his hands, like he always had. Knowing that he wasn’t okay without having to be told, Orange knew him. He liked him, they were friends, roommates, they knew each other.

Friends, roommates. They didn’t...not at home, only when they were out of town together, rooming with just the two of them. Getting two queen sized beds in case someone came over, only using the one. They didn’t do this at home, but no one was looking, there was no one there but him and Orange and…

He wanted to. He’d never been good at stopping himself from going after something he wanted. 

And he once told Orange that he didn’t care much for kissing, and maybe he hadn’t before, but it was always different with Orange. He kissed Orange because he wanted to, because he liked it. He liked kissing Orange, and there was no one around but everyone could’ve been around, those CZW guys, Bill Carr and Dan Barry, laughing at him, and it wouldn’t matter because Orange was pretty and warm in his arms and--

He had to kiss him. There, in front of the apartment they pointedly didn’t do This-with-a-capital-T in, Chuck pulled back just a bit, tilting his head up and--

He had to kiss him. Felt it so deep in the pit of his stomach, he had to kiss him so he did. Right there, on the street in front of their apartment, Chuck kissed him and it felt a little better than raising the belt over his head in Reseda in July, and a hell of a lot better than watching Ricochet do it in October. Good and warm, Orange’s petal pink lips opening in a gasp before he got the picture, arms winding around his neck, pushing up onto his toes to kiss him back.

It felt good and warm, and Chuck pulled him in closer, sighing softly into the kiss. He was kissing Orange because he wanted to, because he liked kissing Orange. He’d liked it since the first one, in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, and he liked all of the ones since, even if he’d never let himself like it but. He did. He liked it, he liked kissing Orange because he...he liked Orange. They were friends, he liked him, but it was more than that, wasn’t it?

He liked Orange and Orange liked him, they were friends but they were more. Friends didn’t look at each other like that, friends didn’t feel like home in that way. Sharing beds with him in motel rooms, friends didn’t kiss like that in front of the apartment that they were supposed to share as just roommates. He had friends, good and bad, but talking to Drew on the phone never felt like how it felt with Orange, and hugging Trent never felt that good.

It was just. Different. A scary different but a good different, it always scared him a little, how different it was with Orange, how good it felt to be with him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even looked at a girl in a bar, not when he was too focused on trying to get Orange to laugh at something he said. Not like it was hard to make him laugh, he always gave it to Chuck, his serious face falling away like it was nothing.

He’d thought, once, that he was like that for everyone, but he’d seen Orange keep it together around countless people. Sometimes, it felt like that warm, sunshine smile was...was just for him. It felt weird to think of it like that, a smile that was just for him, but it felt true in a way. Lots of people smiled at him, but it was just another thing that felt different when Orange did it.

Or maybe it was just because Orange was the person who let him have sex with him the most, maybe that was why he had that feeling. He didn’t know, his brain was all over the place, in Reseda in July and October, on the street in front of their apartment, kissing Orange, done pretending like he didn’t like it. 

Orange was the one to pull back after a moment, humming softly when Chuck tried to slip him some tongue right there on the street. Little hands found his hips, squeezing lightly, and Chuck felt so warm all over, forgetting all about California, staring down at the quirk of those lips he’d just been kissing.

He looked like he was going to say something, fingers slipping down, playing with the edge of Chuck’s shirt. A little amused in a way that had Chuck’s heart doing something weird. Doing flips or something, off the top turnbuckle, one of Ricochet’s weird spinny things where his body moved like it was on a wire, but-- good. Holding the belt over his head, that sort of good, holding Orange in his arms, golden hair tickling his face, golden plates warmed by the heat of the legion hall.

He didn’t have the belt anymore but that didn’t matter to Orange. He still had him, in his arms, his best friend, his _something_. Just...his. 

He wanted to kiss him again but Orange cut him off to speak, voice warm and direct, to his ear without needing to go through the phone.

“Woah.” He said, simply, grinning and laughing a little.

Ricochet’s weird, crazy, flips again. His heart, weird in his chest, Orange warm in his arms. Chuck had to laugh too. Orange made him think crazy things, like dipping him like it was some old movie, telling him things that he didn’t deserve to tell him. He did neither of course, but he kept close, ducking his head again, brushing their noses together.

“You miss me that much?” Orange said then, not mentioning Reseda and losses, not mentioning the lack of the belt in the front seat.

“Yeah.” He said, a little too honest, not even thinking about the belt that was in someone else’s car. 

Maybe he was saying too much, Ricochet’s hand raised above his head, his heart doing flips as he looked down at the strange little look on Orange’s face. Or maybe he hadn’t said enough, maybe he should’ve said more a long time ago. That skinny, sorta awkward looking kid in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, the less awkward looking guy, mopping cranberry and vodka off of his shirt, all of the other times that he thought meant nothing, adding up, meaning...something.

Orange, on the sidewalk, in his arms, the sun warming them both. His face, a little surprised, like he’d expected...something else. Chuck didn’t know what exactly, like he’d been expecting him to just brush him off or something. Make a joke, the kiss, a fluke. He wanted to kiss him again, it wasn’t a fluke, a scary sort of different.

“I missed you too,” Orange said, voice a little slow, like he was testing something, “I always do. When you’re away, I miss you.”

And it sort of made him not want to go anywhere ever again, nowhere where Orange couldn’t follow.

They didn’t do this at home, motel rooms, bar bathrooms, locker rooms, all of those places. The backseat got pretty much retired the first time that Chuck’s knee hurt for a week after, sometime after he turned twenty-five. Hell, the bar bathroom and locker room thing was rare as well, especially since they started rooming together without five other guys to ruin their fun, just the two of them.

It was different at home though, that was where they lived. Road Chuck and Orange and home Chuck and Orange were different, they were supposed to be different. Home Chuck went on bad Tinder dates and got set up with friends of friends, he did what he was supposed to do. What was expected of a man in his early 30s. It was expected, it was what he was supposed to do, and road Chuck was just supposed to be the product of his situation. When he couldn’t find a hook-up, when Orange was there and offering to keep him company, that was what it was supposed to be.

That was what it was supposed to be...but...it hadn’t started like that. It hadn’t continued like that either, sure, sometimes he was hard up and Orange was offering, but there was no one else that first time, in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, and there was no one else there in that bar bathroom. And home Chuck and road Chuck were the same person, they both knew what spots made Orange make such pretty noises, even if he hadn’t heard them in the apartment, he knew that he could suck a little at the hinge of his jaw, right in their kitchen, and he’d moan and cling to him like he did in motels.

But home Chuck and road Chuck were different, except they weren’t, because home Chuck was the one leaning in and pressing their lips back together. And road Chuck and home Chuck were the same person, and they both wanted to kiss Orange.

Orange only let him kiss him for a few more moments, hands clutching at the front of his shirt, breathing a little heavy, eyes a little wide. Chuck’s thumb rubbed over that spot, the hinge of his jaw, and he thought about leaning in and sucking on it but the sun was in his eyes and, right, they were still outside.

He forgot about his bag and the lack of the belt in the front seat, pulling Orange towards the door and getting inside. Into the apartment they shared, into a bed that they were going to share. He had to stop along the way, make good on the thoughts that he’d had before, when he was in the kitchen and Orange was there, and the hinge of his jaw looked like the best tasting thing there. He pressed him up against the wall and kissed him again, once, before making a path down and sucking a little at his jaw.

Home Orange made that same pretty noise, fingers pushing into his hair, holding him close as he sucked a little red mark into his sensitive skin. He was already starting to flush down his entire body, just as reactive as he was when they were on the road, and maybe it was stupid to think that he might react otherwise. They were the same people, at home or away, they had the same desires...the same desire for each other. 

Going out with those girls on Tinder, coming back to see that Orange had waited up for him...had he been hurting him that whole time? Were they something more than just what they did on the road?

He knew the answer. He didn’t like it, but he knew the answer. He’d been hurting Orange and he never wanted to do it again. Chuck still wasn’t sure what they were but he knew that the Tinder app was coming off of his phone, he couldn’t come back to that practiced, blank face again. Not for a chance at something that wouldn’t be nearly as good as what he had with Orange.

Orange missed him when he was away, out in Reseda, somewhere he wasn’t. Did he miss him in the same way when he was out with those Tinder women, friends of friends, trying for...something. Something that he thought he should want, when what he wanted was waiting up at home for him...waiting for the day he didn’t come back.

He couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t go where Orange couldn’t, he’d been looking so hard for something that was right in front of him. And Ricochet had his belt and he thought that he might try to get it back, golden plates, holding the belt high above his head, but...that wasn’t what he’d wanted. Reseda, the belt, Ricochet, none of it mattered, none of it was what he wanted.

No. What he really wanted was Orange. And he should’ve realized it the whole time, from that first moment in someone else’s rental car where he rethought the entire trajectory of his career just for another chance to kiss him. Moved to Philadelphia, moved in with him so they could be together, what was he thinking when he tried to separate home and road Chuck, when they were the same person with the exact same desire?

He hadn’t been thinking. If he had been, he would’ve kissed Orange for that first time and figured that he was it for him.

Chuck had to make it right. Had to make up for every time Orange saw him walk in from a Tinder date, every time he’d probably worried that he wouldn’t walk back in one day. He needed to hold Orange in his arm and tell him that he was who he wanted, more than anything, but, as he opened his mouth, the words just wouldn’t come out.

It was just. A lot to say. All at once, Orange rucked up against the kitchen wall, the bruise on his neck darker than Chuck had intended. He was moaning for it, blunt nails scraping through his hair, looking worked up already. He needed Chuck, he didn’t need his messy words, the unraveled fragments of his awful mind, the words could wait. He needed Chuck to take care of him, and Chuck wanted to do it. He was going to do it.

“C’mon.” He breathed, pulling Orange from his spot on the wall, hand laced around his wrist.

He tugged Orange over to the stairs, hand slipping a little lower, fingers lacing together as they went up. Chuck hesitated at where their rooms were, right across the hall, looking between his room and Orange’s room. Thinking that maybe they should go into Orange’s room for a second, before rethinking and turning to his own room.

It had to be his room. For it to count, for him to be able to get his point across, it had to be his room. Letting Orange into his room, it was more than that. Letting Orange in, leading him over to his bed, working on getting him naked, it was more than just a room. It could be more than just his room too, spreading Orange out on his bed, getting a really good look at him.

Orange was laid out in his sheets, unmade bed under him, hands already fisting in the blankets under him, dick already half-hard and getting harder under his eyes. He looked...like he belonged there, in Chuck’s bed. Like it was where he was supposed to be. Above everything, though, he just looked good but...he always did. He always looked good, even when he was that awkward looking older boy that Chuck hooked up with in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, even when he was sitting next to him on their couch and Chuck had to act like he didn’t want to reach out and touch him. 

He looked good always, and he looked even better in Chuck’s bed, hand coming up to stroke himself at that slow pace he liked, unhurried as always. Chuck, though, he couldn’t be unhurried to save his life, desperate to try and slow down, try to enjoy the sight of Orange in his bed for the very first time. And he knew that it wasn’t going to be the last time either, which made his heart do those Ricochet flips again. 

He had to make it good for him. But he’d done it wrong in the past and Orange was still there, in his bed, so...maybe he just liked it because it was Chuck? He didn’t know, the guy hadn’t said as much and...he’d never asked.

He should’ve asked but he didn’t, but Orange was in his bed anyway. So Chuck worked on getting himself undressed as well, eyes landing on the bottle of lube he’d taken out of his toiletry bag before heading to Reseda. He didn’t need it after all, and Trent could be a little nosey when he wanted to. Not that he didn’t have an idea of what Chuck and Orange got up to when they were on the road together, but he would’ve asked far too many questions that were a little invasive, and he’d already been feeling bad about Ricochet challenging him, so he just didn’t want to deal with it. And he was glad that he took it out, he left his bag in the car and he didn’t want to stop for anything.

Orange was still stroking himself in that unhurried way, always unhurried just as Chuck was always urgent. He needed this, needed Orange, climbing on top of him, kissing him urgently, grinding their hips together. Orange gasped and moaned into his mouth, tongues grazing together, a sloppy, wet kiss. It should’ve been gross, he would’ve hated it if it was from anyone else but Orange, but he just groaned in response and dipped his hips down, grinding against him again and again.

It felt good but it wasn’t going to be enough to do it like this, like they were drunk twenty-somethings in some motel room, grinding together. Like their past, muffling Orange’s noises with his hand over his mouth, biting his own lip to keep quiet, pretending like it was something less than what it really was. It was nothing and everything all at once, not enough, too much, and he thought that it was time to let Orange know exactly what it was.

Chuck reached for the lube on his bedside table, fumbling for it, desperate. Pulling it close to his chest and reluctantly breaking the kiss so he could sit back between Orange’s legs, spreading him wider.

This was something that had become a part of what they did, when Orange bought a bottle of lube and pressed it into his hands, after Chuck had started really getting curious about what it might feel like. Rubbing at his hole, rolling him up a little to rub the leaking head against it, catching the rim and making him gasp. And Orange had looked at him like he wanted it, that first time, rubbing away at his little hole, and Chuck had thought that it was some line that they couldn’t cross, a line that he wanted to barrel past.

After he had finished, making a mess of Orange, he’d used his cum to slide his thumb in, the first time he’d ever put anything inside of him, the first time he’d ever thought of a next time between them. Making plans, not just something that happened but something they did. Something they were going to keep doing, Orange’s face looking up at him like he wanted it, plans for a next time. And they’d had that next time, Orange pushing a bottle of lube into his hands, getting inside of him for that first time.

It was what they did on the road. It was what they were going to do at home from there on out, Orange in his bed...maybe he wouldn’t need to go back to his own bed ever. Maybe they could...maybe they could share a bed, together, their room. 

They could talk about that later though. Talk, for real, for the first time, about what they were. It was different this time, and Chuck knew that Orange felt it too, eyes locked on him. He looked beautiful and Chuck knew that he couldn’t keep him waiting. He’d kept him waiting for too long.

He pressed a soft kiss to his thigh, thought about sucking another mark there and then did it, just a little one as he fumbled to open the lube, caught up in his own action. But Orange was sighing sweetly, brushing his fingers through his hair. He always liked it when Chuck left marks on him, even when people would ask about the girls he hooked up with and Orange would just give a knowing little smile and say nothing about it at all, fingers brushing over it.

Eventually, he got the lube open and slicked up a finger, slid it right into him without a second of hesitation. Chuck wasn’t going to hesitate anymore when it came to being with Orange. Slow, yeah, he didn’t want to hurt Orange, but a constant pressure, pushing into him, pulling out, fucking him just like that on one of his fingers. He was so hot inside, the lube making him slick and easy, and perfect around him. A little intense, but fucking Orange was always a little intense, since that first time in the rental car, thinking about changing his whole life plan just to be near him. And he’d done it too, moved to Philadelphia just to be near him, got them booked together, his whole life planned around being able to be with Orange.

Really, it was amazing he hadn’t figured it out sooner. But Chuck never promised to be a particularly smart person, he was just...a person. A guy who was into another guy in a way that took him years to realize. He wasn’t smart, but he’d gotten there eventually. Gotten Orange into his bed in their home, wanted him to stay there. Maybe it had taken too long but Orange was right there with him, spreading his legs wider, so it wasn’t too late.

He wasn’t on time but he wasn’t too late, so he’d take it. Just like how Orange took the second finger, pulling the first one up to get the other into him. He opened up just as well for it, panting slightly from the stretch.

“Good?” Chuck breathed, bending down to press another kiss into his thigh, smiling into his skin when Orange nodded quickly.

Orange really was beautiful. It was obvious of course, but no one else got to see him like that. Flushed all the way down to his knees, skin so red that Chuck could write his name across his chest just with a finger against his skin. Possessive, like the marks on his skin, he didn’t need to do that though, because he was pretty sure that everyone knew that they were intertwined like that anyway. Guessing long before he had figured it out himself.

“You’re so good for me, baby. You feel so good, you’re taking it so well.” He said, a little mindless, eyes tracking where his fingers were disappearing into him.

Chuck was so hard that it was starting to hurt, dripping pre-cum from the tip, but Orange was right there with him, a puddle on his stomach. Chuck had to lean down, lick through it, lick right at the source. Orange let out a sharp gasp, pulling at Chuck’s hair for just a second before he was pushing him away, a little shaky, gasping louder.

“Too much,” he moaned out, shaking his head, “don’t wanna cum yet, please, Chuck. Need to feel you inside me.”

Chuck had to do it, grinning up at him and licking at him once more, a long stripe from the base all the way to the tip, just to hear him let out another desperate moan, before pulling back and working him on his fingers in earnest, really fucking into him like that. Orange shook and clung under him, and Chuck didn’t need to touch his dick to work him up, crooking his fingers and brushing against that spot inside of him that he’d found that first time, the one that drove him fucking crazy.

“Chuck, c’mon...please…” He whimpered out desperately, hips pushing up hard into his hand, and Chuck had to laugh a little, pressing another kiss to his thigh.

“You can take it, baby, I promise. Just like this for a little while, I’ll get inside you soon.”

He already knew that there was no way either one of them were going to last for very long, already rutting his hips up against whatever part of Orange he could reach, seeking friction. But it felt good to have Orange like that, panting and moaning, begging for it just a little bit. It was a side of him that only Chuck got to see, beyond the blank, unaffected look on his face, seeing him moan and writhe, clearly affected by something...by him. Wanting something, wanting him, Chuck liked him like that. 

He just...liked him. More than he ever thought possible.

“Please…” He said, again, and Chuck knew that he had to give him what he wanted.

“Okay. Okay, Orange, I’ve got you.”

Neither of them were going to last and he knew it. Everything had been building up, it was more than just sex. This was everything all at once, losing the belt to Ricochet during his first defense, every ache and pain in his body, the bad and the good, Orange in their home, in his bed, the thought that he’d had enough with them being less than they should be. California sun, Reseda in July and October, moving to Philadelphia because he’d kissed Orange and wanted to keep doing it, everything that led to having Orange in his bed for the first time.

Fingering him for so long was about trying to hold off with the inevitable. Slicking himself up with a loose hand, groaning loud despite the barest hint of pressure, being inside of Orange was going to be too much, too soon and he knew it, but he had to give him what he needed. The head of his cock, pressed up against his hole, splitting him open. 

He didn’t waste any time, knew that he couldn’t slow down to enjoy it or else he’d enjoy it too much. He needed to give Orange something, already starting to crash high over his head, a big wave, he was going to cum and he knew it. Pushing in deep, getting a hand around him, giving him a few hard, desperate thrusts, but Orange was right there with him. Moaning so loud, arching so high that it was obscene, having to pull him back down so he could keep on thrusting into his body.

He’d promised to keep the belt for nine years. It hadn’t even been nine months until he lost it, but he’d made it to nine big, deep, powerful thrusts before he was slamming home that one last time and cumming so hard that he saw stars behind his eyelids.

He needed to get Orange off before he could enjoy the afterglow, getting a hand around him and stroking him, hips still twitching inside of him, trying to give him a little more. But Orange moaned and gave it to him anyway, gasping his name so loud and shooting off all of his ridiculously perfect body, white cum up on his abs and obliques. And he thought that he never wanted to go anywhere without Orange ever again in that moment, that he’d always bring Orange along with him and everyone was just going to have to deal with it.

Chuck had to pull out of him after that, shuffling and shifting so Orange was comfortable, on his side with Chuck curled around his back. Spooning him, keeping him safe, keeping him with him. 

He pressed his lips to Orange’s bare shoulder, panting together in the afterglow. Sure, he’d been a little quick but Orange hadn’t seemed to mind, Orange had followed him right over the edge. He’d missed him and had been missed in return, he never wanted Orange to feel that way ever again.

He slung a leg over Orange, thought about trying for another round, trying to get it back up again or just getting on top so he could kiss him the way he was meant to be kissed. Maybe after they got some dinner, something that could be delivered. And then he could say everything he’d wanted to say, ask Orange to be his, tell him how he felt. How he’d felt the whole time, since that first time in the backseat of someone else’s rental car, when Orange said that they were _friends_ in that way that seemed to be a little more than that, every time, any time, when they weren’t even doing anything in bed, every part of Orange that he wanted. Good and the bad, he just hoped that Orange would want the bad parts of him as well, and he thought that...he might…

Maybe it couldn’t wait. Maybe he needed to just say it, ask Orange to be his.

“Hey, Orange I…”

But then Orange was reaching over, had his phone been ringing the whole time? He wasn’t sure, but it was suddenly all he could hear and, as Orange pressed his phone into his hand, he realized just how many calls he’d missed, all from Trent. And Trent never called him, so he picked up quickly, hoping that nothing was wrong, his brain instantly supplying him with the worst.

Trent’s voice came through the line, talking fast, saying all sorts of words. Chuck sat up, nodding even though Trent couldn’t see him, saying ‘yeah’ when he realized that he wasn’t saying anything at all. 

Orange watched the whole time, a worried little look on his face until Chuck hung up, and then he was opening his mouth to speak and Chuck…

He needed to kiss him. More than ever, he needed to kiss him, leaning in and doing it a little too hard, a little too fast. He needed to kiss him, he’d always needed to kiss him, needed to kiss him until his lungs started to burn and then for a little while after that.

Chuck pulled back and Orange still looked worried, hands coming up to cradle his face, making him look into his eyes. 

He knew that it was supposed to be a good thing. Trent had sounded excited, it was a good thing, but--

“They uh...they want me in New Japan.”

He didn’t want to go where Orange couldn’t. All of the words he’d wanted to say, Orange being with him for real, they died in his throat. He couldn’t say them suddenly, couldn’t tell Orange that and then...and then go where he couldn’t follow.

It was a good thing. Orange...Orange looked happy for him, or was trying to look happy for him, a smile on his face, leaning in and kissing him, happy for him. And it was good, New Japan was big, he’d always wanted to go, always figured that they wouldn’t ever want him but they wanted him.

He was going to go, Trent hadn’t really given him an option, so he was going to go. But...he was just starting to figure out what he wanted with Orange, just starting to connect some pieces, just starting to get ready to be able to say the quiet parts out loud. 

Going to New Japan was going to be good. A new adventure, good for his career, it was going to be good.

But, as he looked at the forced little smile on Orange’s face, he couldn’t help but feel like it was a bad thing.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed it! you can find me on tumblr, @ [ or-ng-c-ss-dy ](https://or-ng-c-ss-dy.tumblr.com/).


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